Interview With an Ex-Butler
by Aservis Roturier
Summary: A dapper, elegant man dressed in black sits down over coffee with a student at a small restaurant to be interviewed for an assignment for her Creative Writing class. Her subject? Everything you ever wanted to know about DEMONS but were afraid to ask!


No, I don't believe anyone's ever approached me with such an idea. Yes, I've read the book, though for your edification, vampires aren't anything like that. In fact you could say there are no real vampires, only bored demons taking the piss. You really should avoid them at all cost.

Well, go on then: ask away, I suppose there's no harm in it.

Compared to humans? All right. That's as good a place to start as any, I imagine. I have greatly heightened senses compared to your kind. I can hear far better than you and see better in the dark _and_ the light, nor am I blinded by sudden shifts between the two. My sense of taste is different to yours. You would consider it inferior, though it's just right for my purposes.

How? Well, for instance, though I really cannot discern a great deal of difference between sour, bitter and salty things I can taste all sorts of information about you on your skin. I can 'taste' things on the air to a certain extent, though it's a combination of senses, just as your taste is really both taste and smell. Sweet I can taste but like most demons I really dislike sweet things.

You lot might as well not have a nose for all the good yours does you, other than holding up your glasses and keeping your eyes from rolling onto your mouths. I, on the other hand, can not only smell your mood, your health, your state of personal cleanliness and sometimes even your secret thoughts, I can do it from half a mile away. Blood, spilled blood I mean, I can smell from even further away. I can pick up your scent today from where you walked through the grass last night.

Yes, I've seen the bomb-sniffing dogs, the drug dogs and bloodhounds. I can do all that if I care to, but please remember I have those faculties harnessed to a mind that's more like yours than any dog's. And I have senses and abilities no animal or human possesses and for which you have no name.

Well, for example I can sense the presence-or absence-of human souls. Within a structure, hiding in a field or forest, independent of sight, sound or scent. I can tell quite a lot about the kind of person you are from what I can sense about your soul: are you open or closed, outgoing, or reserved? Inclined toward rectitude or indulgence, what your history has done to you...it's all there if I care to read it. If I were ever bored I could amuse myself quite profitably as a gypsy fortune teller. Or a psychiatrist! Most people would be very uncomfortable in my presence if they realised how transparent they are to me.

Sorry. I probably shouldn't have said that, and I _really_ shouldn't have laughed. Forgot myself there a moment. Are you all right? Do you want to continue... or have you heard enough?

Alright then. My strength is far greater than that of a human of comparable height and weight, by a factor of ... oh, I'd say ten, at the very least. Part of that is down to fast-twitch muscle fibre and insertion angles, but it's also about the makeup of my skeleton. A human of my stature, weighing only what I do would break in a stiff breeze. But I have the hollow bone structure of a bird, you see. Not every demon is like me. Fox demons are similar, strong but very light for their size, and for the same reason. Hollow does not necessarily mean fragile, however, not by any means. Are lead pipes fragile? Of course not.

That's also not to say I don't get broken up from time to time, I do, certainly. But it isn't as much of a concern for me as it would be for you as I heal very quickly. This aspect is not strictly biological, though that does contribute to it as well. There is an element of what you would call magic. It isn't something your scientists could isolate and experiment on. The fast healing and the ability to eject foreign materials from the body such as arrowheads, knife blades and these days, lead shot, bullets and shrapnel, is a combination of the naturally vibrant demonic constitution plus the ability to move objects with the force of thought alone. There's a lot I can do with thought. You'd probably be ... well, a little shocked, to say the least.

What? Of course it hurts! I'm living flesh and blood, the same as you are. Would it hurt if I cracked your skull open for you?

Ah. Right you are. Clever answer! You understand more of your own physiology than most of your kind. Just like you, the adrenaline released keeps us on our feet in battle and at least initially keeps pain at bay. It's the paper cuts of life that sting like a bitch. Also, there's less panic on our part when we are wounded because we know rapid healing will save us from what would finish off a lesser creature. Panic plays a larger part in your ability—or lack of it— to cope with such accidents than you probably realise. I've seen your kind scare themselves to death for very little reason. Whereas I know I could lose multiple major organs and bleed out blue, even have my head torn off and still survive it.

Might need a little downtime if you ripped my heart and lungs out, but I know I could get over it. I _have_ got over it. Poppa D'evreux helped prove that.

Hm? No one of importance. Wouldn't mean anything to you even if I told you about her. Much too far back to bother. You had another question?

Yes I agree. I think perhaps we do enjoy more robust adrenals than you, as well as a greater release of adrenaline in an emergency. Your kind fatigue and sicken if you're under steady stress for any length of time. As far as I can tell that does not ever happen to us. Being under contract is one continual period of intense stress, but we seem to manage it years on end without physical breakdown.

Well, one reason is it takes continual, steady effort to maintain this false appearance. You normally carry that handbag with you when you go shopping or leave home for any reason, yes? Well, imagine it weighing twice what it does now yet you must keep hold of it all day, with one hand, and hold it slightly away from your body. If you can imagine doing that for days on end you'll begin to understand what staying in human guise feels like for us. And just as a hand locks up on you after an extended period of time clutching something, our ability to change rather cramps up on us when we stay with the same appearance for long periods. It will really be painful when I finally shed this form and regain my natural appearance. This is the longest I've stayed in one human guise.

And on top of that effort we're expected to perform all sorts of difficult and often humiliating services as well. You lot make us pay dearly for those souls of yours. It's no wonder when a contract finally terminates, the demon often tends to goes on a tear just to get the taste of servitude out of his mouth.

Hm? Oh yes. Things like earthquakes, tidal waves, volcanoes going off—not always, mind you, but often enough they're caused by some disgruntled demon who wants to hide the evidence of a post-contract rampage. The mass killings hide an excessive number of demon predation for the purpose of consuming souls.

No, I haven't _caused_ anything like that since the Black Death, but I did avail myself of the Spanish flu at one point to work off some frustrations I was suffering at about that time, so yes. Still a demon, darling. Don't let the suit, the tie and the pretty face fool you. Yes, while Dorothy Parker was bitching about the theatres being closed, I was busy gulping down every miserable little soul I could lay hands on.

Lovely little woman, Mrs. Parker, but I think I may have ruined her taste in men. Shame she insisted on burying herself in dogs. Though perhaps that was just her way of encouraging me to keep my distance ...no, not a contract, more of an affair, I'd call it. You should get back to your questions or you'll never get through them.

Why? These differences only make sense if you think about it. I _am_ a predator, efficiently and elegantly designed for hunting one specific kind of prey. You: your kind, are the prey. I and my kind sustain ourselves on human life-force, predated, purchased or stolen. Amongst yourselves you call it the 'soul'. Some of you don't believe it exists—which I find hysterical, frankly. But I can assure you: just as surely as I live by it, it exists, and you each have it. You wouldn't be moving around thinking, talking or writing this without it. I suppose saying we sustain ourselves on it is a bit misleading. We would not die if we never took in souls, but we would not function at such a high level of strength and thinking ability without them. Refrain and we would be closer to animals, running more on instinct, less capable of appreciating many of the finer points of living.

I personally find it quite amusing that we can actually approach you lot and negotiate deals with you bartering our talents and strength for your souls. So much more amusing and intellectually stimulating than just a mindless hunt. Though mind you, falling on one's prey like a lion on a wildebeest has its own particular appeal, and I freely admit to indulging in it now and then—I like getting blood on my hands, on my claws, my fangs. I feel like behaving too buttoned up for too long a time dulls my edge...but of course that may just be an excuse I tell myself.

This shouldn't be too alien a concept for you to grasp. If you think about it you will recognise in your own existence times when the best thing you can possibly do for your own sanity is turn off your higher faculties and just be a beast. Only it isn't a straight one-to-one comparison. For you, this kind of abandonment of the higher reasoning processes most often happens during sex. That is not so mindless for me—or at least it rarely is. For me, sex is more often a carefully orchestrated, consciously controlled act done to elicit a certain frame of mind in my prey. I rarely rut for rutting's sake ... well not with you lot, anyhow. No, killing is the way a demon relaxes. It's fun and a damned good aerobic workout if you can manage to do enough of it.

Demonic biology is set up to be able to perfectly mimic your kind while still being vastly superior to you in numerous crucial ways. I have most all of my body functions under conscious control. It is very handy to be able to blush, get goose flesh, stop breathing, feign death, vomit or make your heart race exactly when you need it to—not to mention getting or losing an erection with just a thought. Makes manipulating you humans much, much simpler.

And of course, we are individuals the same as you in our tastes and talents. Nearly all can give themselves a pleasing appearance in either gender. Personal tastes tend to have us settling into one gender or another, even one appearance at times. I quite fancy the appearance I'm in now. It was manifested to resemble the father of one of my former contractors, to make him feel a bit more comfortable around me—he was still a child, you see and still needed that adult connexion. But I really like it. They were truly a handsome family, though of course their colouring was nothing like this. But I've probably had more compliments on this form than any other I've ever manifested, so I'll be keeping this one a while.

It's amusing being in male gender and told you're _pretty _all the time. Works a treat on men who like men and women seem to like it as well. Why I'll bet even you like me, don't you darling. Smells like you do, fancy a shag when you're done writing all that down?

See? Even knowing what you know! I tell you this face and form is priceless.

No, we're basically genderless creatures. Oh no, the equipment works all right, to a point, but it's really all just for show, a lure, like that little worm at the end of an angler fish's spine—you've seen pictures of those haven't you? Ugly bastards—or rather bitches, I understand all the ones big enough to take prey are female. Hey, I enjoy the Discovery Channel; sue my perfect little demonic arse if you don' like it.

Demons are a lot like that fish. We hide the ugly parts down in the sand and waggle that bit of bait out there, hoping you'll gulp _it_ down, so we in turn can gulp _you _down. But it's all just for show, love. Demons are created, not born, so gender and sex for us is all down to camouflage and bait. I will become whatever I need to become in order to get what I need to live. Keeping alive is my only real imperative—well, that and territory. Gender, sexuality, acquiring a mate, companionship, ensuring the continuation of the species—none of that really applies to me.

Ambulatory eating machines is really all we are.

Looks aren't an issue amongst my kind. We recognise one another by scent, so it doesn't matter if I meet you in your natural guise, or some twisted appearance requested by your contractor, I will know your scent which doesn't change. I'll scent that you're another demon and an enemy, because friendship doesn't exist either. Every other of my kind is a competitor and therefore my enemy. Pairs, families, they don't really exist. We're lone predators.

Well yes, sometimes the odd demon will find they enjoy the company of another and pair up. Doesn't usually last though, lasting pairs are very rare and the individuals involved in them are usually viewed as weak, aberrant.

Running into another of my kind might be a grudgingly respectful stand-off at best, but more likely it will lead to a bloody fight until one or the other either dies or capitulates. And since demons often express dominance the way animals do—yes, and some animalistic humans as well—by mounting the weaker one...yes you're quite right, that is one other function of our sexuality that I neglected to mention, didn't I. Probably because it rather disgusts me personally and it's not something I indulge in very often. But considering what's at stake, the fighting can be very intense and _very_ ugly.

Tsk! You would ask that. No, I've never challenged anyone that way and no, I've never lost such a challenge either — and anyway, I wouldn't tell you if I had! Now look: I know your kind is very interested in sex in any form, but could we move on? You can't hope to get a very accurate idea of my kind if all your questions are about subjects which mean nothing to me, now can you?

Yes contracting with world leaders is quite common. Common to the point the ones who don't stand out. And no, I'm not naming names, but I believe your country had one back in the early '80's who didn't. That's the last I can remember off hand. And he didn't last long.

How one finds people with whom to contract varies from era to era. Basically you find needy people with problems and then you offer to repair their lives. I've manned suicide hotlines, joined encounter groups, posed as a priest, a psychiatrist, anybody who acts as solace for disturbed souls...and I've studied the shinigamis' death lists to make cold calls on people and directly offer my services. Occasionally I throw out a freebie. In the same vein as the drug dealer who tells you the first taste is free. People are usually grateful and greedy for more. Hospitals are fertile hunting grounds as well, especially the hospice unit. And of course occasionally someone will do it the old-fashioned way and raw a circle, or bury something at a crossroad or just scream out for help with just that right mixture of rage and despair. We listen for such calls.

And once in a great while I'll just encounter someone in passing who radiates those emotions like a beacon. When that happens I will offer them my services frankly and honestly as I am to you right now.

Yes, I am. You are interested in contracting with me. Your eagerness is palpable, my dear. It's been coming off you in waves for more than an hour now.

Hm? Well yes, of course I knew. You did listen when I told you how sensitive my senses are, didn't you? Rather a clever little tactic, this. Equips you very well to deal with contracting someone like me. I congratulate you on your canniness in coming up with it. Many can't you know—deal with contracting an actual demon. Many immediately self-destruct on realising what they've done and I get to eat right away.

So come on then, tell me: what's _your_ story, love?

Come now, everyone has one. I've trusted you with a great many of my secrets. Does that not make you feel a bit more secure in sharing yours? I know you need me. I can sense you want me—in several different meanings of that phrase, and I am flattered, but I will need to know more if this is going to work. I can only sense your fury and your pain—which is delightful, so much raw pulsing anger calling out for justice—tickles my palate and stirs the appetite, but I'm no mind reader, I cannot see the cause of it.

Ah. I see. And this was how long ago? Hm. And you tried the traditional route, spoke with the authorities? And you got no satisfaction there. Why did they not believe you? I see. So why have you sought me out now? You've let it lay for a long tim—oh, I see. Other young relatives. There's danger of him doing the whole thing all over again to them. And what has this done to your ability to trust others and form relationships?

Sorry. I told you I've masqueraded as a psychiatrist more than once. Asking such questions has got to be a habit over the years.

Not surprising, really. I would've been more surprised if you'd told me you'd managed to find someone for yourself and you'd happily settled down. So...I would hazard a guess that you could use a man in your life. Well, at any rate, we can iron little details like that out la—oh, you make me laugh! Well, why wouldn't you? We're talking about you selling your soul to a devil. We're all adults here. Why would you still worry about a thing like that?

Right and wrong. Pfft. Honestly!

You do realise, don't you, that if you contract with me you will own me. Every inch of me, do you see? I will be yours to command. Your mouth is hanging open my dear. You might want to do something about that.

Look: I'm trying to be fair here, so think about it for a moment: you want him... let's call it 'stopped,' yeah? So, fine: I go over to his home and take care of it and boom! Contract finished, I come back here and collect my reward. Now don't mistake me, I'm not complaining! If you're tired of life—and I am getting that vibe from you pretty strongly right now—I can certainly accommodate. But once I deal with him, _you_ have the ability to re-enter your life with new freedom and new abilities you just might be able to use to make things more bearable, such as commanding me to be the partner you've always wished you had. You really only have to ask, after all. You are limited only by your own imagination.

Listen. I rent a flat quite near here. Why not come with me and we can... discuss this in a more private, intimate setting. Over a cup of tea. And I can whip you up something to nibble. I'm quite the pâtissière you know. Please, allow me treat you. No, I forbid you to eat the offal they serve here. The cakes and pastries this place offers all taste like they've come straight from Beelzebub's bottom. Let me show you what I can do. And uh, I can cook too. Heh. What do you say, my dear?


End file.
